The Ashlands did not welcome them. It simply tolerated them, like a beast tolerates fleas.
They had been running for hours, stumbling through the predawn gloom until the burning glow of Ironhold was just a smudged star on the horizon. The terrain here was brutal—sharp shale that sliced boots, gnarled roots that tripped tired legs, and a silence so heavy it felt like pressure on the eardrums.
"Stop," Elric wheezed.
He collapsed against a dead pine tree, sliding down until he hit the grey dust. His tunic was dark with fresh blood.
Kael dropped to his knees beside him. "Jax, water."
Jax fumbled with a waterskin, his hands shaking. The thief looked small, his usual swagger replaced by the jagged movements of shock. He handed the skin to Kael.
"Drink," Kael said, holding it to Elric's lips.
Elric drank, then coughed, spotting the leather with red. "We need... distance."
"We have distance," Kael said, though he didn't know if it was true. "We need you breathing."
He tore a strip from his own cloak and pressed it against Elric's side. The old wound had opened, and a new arrow graze on his arm was bleeding sluggishly.
"Karn," Jax whispered. He was staring back the way they came. "He didn't come."
"No," Kael said. He didn't look back. "He didn't."
"He... he crushed that archer," Jax said, a hysteriacal giggle escaping his lips. "Did you see it? he crushed him like a bug."
"Jax," Kael said sharply.
"He's dead," Jax said, his voice cracking. "The big bastard is dead."
"Jax!" Kael grabbed the thief by the collar and shook him. "Look at me."
Jax's eyes focused. They were wide, terrified.
"Karn bought us time," Kael said, his voice low and hard. "If you panic, you sell it back. Do you understand?"
Jax nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Yeah, Rat. I got it."
"Good. Scout the ridge. See if we're being followed."
Jax scrambled away, relieved to have an order.
Kael turned back to Elric. The old Knight was watching him.
"You're taking command," Elric murmured.
"Someone has to," Kael said. He tied off the bandage. "You can't walk much further."
"I can ride," Elric said. "If we had horses."
"We have feet," Kael said. "And we have the cover of the Grey."
He looked around. The Ashlands were colorless. The trees were white with petrified bark. The ground was grey dust. The sky was a bruised purple. It was a dead world, sandwiched between the human kingdoms and the unknown horrors of the Deep Waste.
"Where do we go?" Elric asked. "Ironhold is gone. The Vanguard is gone."
Kael touched his chest. The obsidian cylinder—the Soul-Lock—was still there, warm against his skin.
"North," Kael said. "Away from the Black Banner. Into the wild."
"There's nothing "North" but monsters and madness," Elric warned.
"Better them than Vane," Kael said. "And the Black Banner won't expect us to go deeper into the Grey."
Elric chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. "Into the fire to escape the frying pan. A classic stratagem."
Jax slid down the ridge in a shower of pebbles.
"Nothing yet," Jax reported. "But I saw birds rising in the south. Carrion crows. lots of them."
"They're feasting at the fortress," Elric said grimly.
"Then the army is still occupied," Kael said. He stood up and offered Elric a hand. "We move. We find a cave or a defensible copse. We rest for two hours. Then we move again."
Elric took the hand. His grip was weak, but he stood.
"Lead on, Sir Knight," Elric murmured.
Kael didn't correct him. He wasn't a knight. He wasn't even a squire. He was a survivor holding a stolen artifact that could end the world.
But as he looked out at the endless, silent grey woods, Kael felt a strange calm.
The politics were gone. The lies were gone.
Here, it was just survival. And survival was the one thing he was good at.
"Walk," Kael ordered.
And they walked into the grey.